


Never and Always

by brynna



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynna/pseuds/brynna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take conservative, tie-wearing James Wilson and pair him with the female lead singer of a symphonic metal band and the outcome is sure to be… unusual at best. Throw that combination into High Lonesome ‘verse and the outcome is going to take some really odd shifts.</p><p>James Wilson meets Bridgette Sabrina Connors and finds himself swept into the world of the supernatural. Sequel to The Touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get In Line

Title: Never and Always  
Series: High Lonesome  
Chapters: Prologue and Chapter One – “Get In Line”  
Author: Linda/Brynna/Brynnamorgan  
Rating: R for Graphic Language  
Categories: Romance/Supernatural/Spiritual/AU  
Characters: Wilson/OFC  
Spoilers: None

Archive: An Archive of Our Own, fanfiction.net and my Livejournal.

This tale would probably make a lot more sense if you’ve read the first of the series, _The Touch._ It kinda stands alone, but if you have questions don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

Take conservative, tie-wearing James Wilson and pair him with the female lead singer of a symphonic metal band and the outcome is sure to be… unusual at best. Throw that combination into High Lonesome ‘verse and the outcome is going to take some really odd shifts. ;-)

Disclaimer: I own a 2013 Hyundai Elantra. I also own this computer, a shiny DSLR camera, and a large collection of vinyls. Do you see the House Cast in there anywhere? Nope, didn’t think so. They’d make great stocking-stuffers for Yule, though. Especially either Hugh Laurie or Robert Sean Leonard. Or both. Naked.

Mike Pinder, formerly of The Moody Blues, makes a cameo appearance. This is *not* RPF by any means.

The fictional bands Night’s Desire and Sabrina Wallace & Whistle Stop, however, do belong to me and my twisted mind. Not that anybody in their right mind would actually steal them, but I love threatening people with my cane. ;-)

* * *

_“Old loves they die hard  
Old lies they die harder…” _

_“I Wish I Had An Angel” - Nightwish - Once_

* * *

Prologue

The halls were semi-dark, the barest reflection of subdued overhead lighting reflecting off of immaculately polished linoleum. Letting out a long sigh, she stepped across the nurses’ station and let herself into the dimly-lit waiting room. There she sank onto a recliner and bent forward to cradle her head in her hands.

So tired. So damned tired.

Sweetie?

The masculine warmth surged through her and she sighed, feeling herself mentally sag against it.

_Daddy._

_Last I checked._

_Funny. Funny guy._

_You should go and get some rest._

_I am getting rest._

Disbelief greeted her and she gave a mental wry grin. She could practically hear the snort.

_Well, as much rest as I need, anyway. I’m not leaving you._

_God, you’re stubborn._

_Came by it honestly._

Amusement swept through her this time and she allowed herself a small chuckle as she retrieved a blanket from the waiting room cabinet. Almost as soon as her head settled against the recliner cushion exhaustion got the better of her and she slid off into sleep.

_James._

_Wuh?_

_Sadness overwhelmed her and she shivered. Was it possible to be cold in one’s dreams? she wondered._

_Please, help him to forgive._

_Blonde hair fluttered past her field of vision, shifting slightly to give her a glimpse of ivory skin and expressive blue eyes._

_I don’t..._

_You will. Please, help him to forgive._

Immediately the dream was snatched away from her and she shifted into the next one, forgetting the first even existed.

* * *

_“The days departed_  
 _Gardens deserted_  
 _This frail world_  
 _My only rest?”_

_“Away” – Nightwish – Over The Hills and Far Away EP_

* * *

Chapter One – “Get In Line”

James Wilson was, by nature, a soul who had learned to roll with the flow over the years. Or maybe more like not knowing when the next blast would come from his once-best friend had taught him to at least learn how to bend and duck from the figurative punches. More than once he admitted to himself that at least being close (as close as one could ever get excepting House’s woman, he supposed) to Greg House over the years had taught him to expect the unexpected.

However, he wasn’t prepared for the memo that came across his desk, one that made his brows shoot up under his bangs, then lower with irritation. _Damn Cuddy and her ass-kissing to get the hospital any funds she could manage,_ he thought dourly as he pushed himself up from his desk and stalked out of his office, neatly dodging House and one of the fellows... Taub, he thought vaguely as he continued on his mission, barely missing stride.

“Christ, Wilson,” he heard House call after him. “Cripple, here!”

The elevator door effectively silenced House’s mocking voice, giving him time to catch his breath and try, just try to unclench his fists. Just shut the fuck up, House, he thought, pretending that he hadn’t heard just the tiniest bit of hurt in House’s tone. _Calm,_ he told himself firmly. He had more important things to address, and being angry would get him nowhere with his boss. _You catch more bees with honey than vinegar. Still..._

He swung open the double-glass doors into Cuddy’s office and advanced towards her desk, trying and failing miserably to crack a grin. Behind the desk Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, glanced up at him once, shrugged, then went back to perusing over what appeared to be a patient’s folder.

“Can I do anything for you, Dr. Wilson?” she asked pleasantly, seemingly unruffled by the man standing in front of her who brimming with irritation. Immediately the memo Wilson had in his hand fluttered onto her desk, causing her to merely glance at it, then up at him, an all-too-familiar “you can yell at me all you want, but you’re screwed and you know it” smile on her face. Most of the time that was directed at House, but then again Wilson rarely picked battles with his boss.

“Since when do you go shuffling all of my patients around to other doctors so I can focus on just one?” he asked angrily, stabbing his finger at the memo. As Cuddy opened her mouth to speak he added, “I don’t care if his relatives can buy a whole new wing for the hospital. There is no way you have the right...”

“Maybe not an entire wing, but is it wrong to want the best for Dad?”

Wilson spun on his heels to see what he’d overlooked in anger - a female figure rising from Cuddy’s sofa. As she advanced towards him he took in the long black hair tied in a ponytail that hung down her back, the ice-blue eyes, and the dark eyeliner that went well with the snug black top and black jeans she was wearing. _Early thirties,_ he thought, forcing his hormones into check as he realized she was attractive. _If you liked the Goth look,_ anyway, he reminded himself.

“Get in line, Miss...”

“Connors. Bridgette Connors, my friends call me Brid. And for the record, where my father is concerned, I don’t care to stand in line, Doctor...”

“Wilson,” he snapped. When she lifted a brow at him he added, “James Wilson.”

Now why on earth did her eyes suddenly widen a fraction? He blinked against a sudden, spinning feeling, feeling odd tendrils in his mind seeking... _forgive_... then withdrawing. He hadn’t felt anything like that since... _Sabrina?_ His mind barely registered as Connors went into reverse, then stopped, took a deep breath, and stilled for a moment, her eyes never leaving his.

“A year is a long time to withhold forgiveness,” she murmured, blinking as if dazed. Behind him he heard Cuddy’s indrawn breath, just audible over the slamming of his heartbeat. How did she know? As he opened his mouth to reply she staggered, then sagged against the door as he rushed to assist her. Immediately she fended him off, rubbing her hand across her eyes.

“Fatigue,” was all she said as she brushed Wilson aside. He detoured her hand and grasped her elbow, cautiously lowering her back to Cuddy’s sofa. ”Oh, good grief,” she muttered when Cuddy pushed Wilson aside, snatched his stethoscope from his pocket and began giving her a quick check-over. “I’m fine, dammit. Just too many nights with not enough sleep.”

Cuddy lifted a brow at her as she pulled back and dumped the stethoscope back into Wilson’s coat pocket. “I’ll take your word for it this time, Miss Connors,” she said firmly, “but if it happens again...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” was the other woman’s reply as she stretched, then got back to her feet. “So, care to show me around the cancer ward, Dr. Wilson?”

“As a matter of fact...”

“He’d love to,” Cuddy finished for him. “Wouldn’t you, Dr. Wilson?” The look she gave him was one that plainly said he might as well give up and play nice. He drew in a breath, slowly let it out and nodded. He’d give the woman a quick run-through of the ward and let her have her “feel good” moment.

“You know, Dr. Wilson,” she commented softly as they walked side-by-side from the elevator to the ward, “resentment doesn’t become you.”

He snorted and lifted one brow at her. “Last I checked, resentment never became anyone.”

“And yet you continue to be resentful.” She gave an eloquent shrug of her shoulders. “Be it far from me, though, to tell you how to live your life.”

“Trust me, you won’t,” he interjected, getting that infuriating shrug in response. “So, what did you promise Cuddy? A new wing with your name in a shiny new plaque above the entrance?”

It was her turn to snort. “Well, that would take money, and currently I’m unemployed. Grant you, I have residuals coming in. Tommy couldn’t put a stop to that no matter how hard he...” Her voice trailed off at the blank expression on his face. “But you don’t recognize me, do you? Not that it matters to me one way or another. I’m kinda enjoying the anonymity for a change.”

“So, who...”

Connors froze in her tracks and turned slowly to gaze across the hall as the sound of a feminine voice singing wafted from one of the doors. “Is that who I think it is?” Before Wilson had time to react she had the door open and was standing in the entrance, transfixed at the sound of the woman strumming a guitar and singing. Wilson touched her elbow in an attempt to pull her away from the room and she yanked away, glaring at him as the singing stopped mid-verse.

“Jimmy, leave her be,” Sabrina Wallace said softly. Suddenly it was her turn to stop and stare, breaking into a wide grin as she rose to her feet. “Bridgette Connors, right?” she said as she extended her hand to the younger woman. “My husband is such a huge fan of yours.”

“And my dad’s a big fan of yours, so we’re even.” She accepted the handshake and froze, her gaze locking with Sabrina’s.

_We are much alike, you and I._

_I thought I was alone._

_Never._

_Oh, great, another one._

_Greg, behave._

_Sweetie, who..._

Wilson stepped back as he felt the air shift around him, taking in the sight of the two women grasping each other’s hands, eyes closed. Suddenly the women began hugging and giggling, with Sabrina occasionally rolling her eyes in the direction that Wilson knew for a fact was House’s office. Meanwhile, the young girl Sabrina had been singing for was sitting upright in her hospital bed, her eyes like saucers.

“Oh, man, wait’ll I tell my brother this one. He’s gonna shit.”

Immediately they broke apart, laughing and shaking their heads. “Come on,” Sabrina urged, indicating another visitor’s chair. “Oh, and James?”

Wilson couldn’t look away from the cool expression in her eyes. “Yeah?”

“There’s nothing keeping you from leaving, if you want.”

 _Ouch._ He swallowed, then shrugged.

“I was... showing Miss Connors around. Cuddy-ordered, in fact,” he replied, knowing how lame he sounded.

“Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to piss Cuddy off, now would you,” she stated. No more than you already have was left unsaid, but felt. “Later, Brid? Lunch? All we have is the usual crap in the cafeteria. If we get there early enough I can keep Greg from smuggling a steak under his salad.” When Brid stared at her she added, “He doesn’t like to spend money on food. Toys, now that’s another matter entirely.”

“One Flying-V later,” Wilson muttered without thinking, getting that same look from Sabrina again.

“One repaired Flying-V later,” she corrected, a faint smile tugging at her lips when he turned bright red with embarrassment.

“You broke his guitar?” Now Brid was giving him a look of disbelief. When he remained silent she added, “An expensive guitar, to boot?” Christ, she was looking at him like he’d sprouted horns.

“Fortunately we have our home child-proofed, or no telling what other kind of mischief he could have gotten into,” was Sabrina’s dry comment. Brid snorted and rolled her eyes. “Tell you what. You go do the ‘grand tour’ thing and we’ll meet you in the cafeteria, say, at 11:30? Greg’s in the middle of a case but if I know him well enough he’ll make the time.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hey, wait,” the girl spoke up, finally having gotten over her initial shock. “Can you sing something for me, too? My brother…”

“Sure.” She sat on the edge of the girl’s bed. “Something short, but enough to make your brother jealous?”

“Yeah, and besides I wanna hear you sing.”

Connors looked over at Wilson. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Better yet,” he backed out into the hallway, strode over to the nearest vending machine and popped in a dollar bill and some change, then pushed a button and retrieved a bottle of water. Once back in the room she gave him a pleased smile before taking a few sips, then closing her eyes and relaxing for a moment.

“She didn’t have the time to prepare like I did,” Sabrina explained softly. “That’s why the song has to be short.”

“No chance to warm up,” Brid agreed, taking another sip. “Sabrina, I could use some accompaniment.”

“Sure. I’m familiar with your catalog,” the other woman replied. “And, what I don’t know I’ll just wing.”

She started off soft, a bit breathy, and Wilson’s first thought was, _Nice, but not worth the fuss._

“The days were brighter  
Gardens more blooming  
The nights had more hope  
In their silence.”

 _Good lyrics,_ he admitted to himself when she went into the second stanza. Suddenly she held herself slightly more erect as she went into the chorus.

“Away, away, away in time  
Every dream's a journey away  
Away, away to a home away from care  
Everywhere's just a journey away.”

 _Opera? She was an opera soprano?_ His eyes grew wide at the pure notes that ran directly opposite with the dark makeup and black clothing. _No wonder House was crazy about her,_ he thought. _The contrast itself was intriguing._

As she finished the girl applauded, causing Brid to smile, then shrug at Sabrina. “Now, hopefully Tommy won’t get wind of it and sue me for singing one of his songs,” she said wryly, getting an eye roll from Sabrina.

“Yeah, well, I thought Greg was gonna drive clear to Seattle and wrap his cane around Tommy’s head for firing you,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Besides, if Tommy does sue, I’ve been in the business for almost thirty years. I know more people and I probably have more money. Never mind Greg has a few less than savory connections,” she added with a wink. “Now, go. You’re keeping Dr. Wilson waiting.”

“I-I don’t... I mean, I didn’t mind, I...”

“Stuttering doesn’t become you any more than resentment, Dr. Wilson,” Brid said sweetly as she swept past him and out into the hall. He blinked and stood for a moment, trying to regain his composure. Between Sabrina’s chilly reception and Brid’s not turning out to be what he thought she was, off-balance didn’t begin to describe the way he felt. _House would be mocking him to no end right about now._ The thought came up unbidden and he winced inwardly.

“Coming, Dr. Wilson?”

He started, then hurried down the hall after her, still wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

The cafeteria was noisy as usual, but no one sitting in the corner table even noticed. Hell, they didn’t even make any noise, Wilson thought, glancing from one person to another, then another. Occasionally one would laugh out loud, then the silence came back. Fucking creepy, but equally cool, he realized, a small sigh escaping him. Even sitting with four people he felt adrift and left out.

Once he glanced up to see House gazing sadly at him, only to turn away swiftly at being caught. Sabrina traced her fingertip lightly down the back of her husband’s hand, then turned to raise a brow at Wilson. _See what you’re doing to him,_ her expression seemed to say. Suddenly a rush of emotions filled him and he squeezed his eyes shut. Hard.

“Dr. Wilson?” Brid reached for him and he wrenched away, his eyes flying wide open with pain and astonishment all mixed in together.

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed, shuddering at another wave. “What…”

“Easy, Jimmy,” Sabrina moved down a seat next to him, her expression troubled. “What’s going on?”

“So much emotion. So much pain,” he rasped out, allowing her to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Death, pain, loss...”

Sabrina closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate for a moment, reopened them to give Brid a sympathetic gaze. “You’re projecting, hon,” she said quietly. Immediately Brid went pale, then still as her father reached across the table to cradle her hand in his.

“It’s okay, sweet,” he said aloud, his voice a rasp from all the oxygen that he’d been breathing in for the past several weeks. _He looked so tired, so worn,_ Wilson thought, taking in the spare frame, the silvery-white hair thinning from chemotherapy, the pallor from anemia brought on by all the chemicals that ravaged not only the cancer, but his body. Brid smiled wanly at him, then squeezed his hand in return.

“It’s not okay,” was her quiet reply. “It’ll never be okay until you’re whole again.”

“It has to be, sweetie,” he replied, kissing his daughter’s forehead.

_He’s all I have left._

Wilson didn’t flinch that time. The rush had been less intense, more of a gentle wave of sadness than the intensity of fear.

_He’s all I have left and now he’s leaving me. They always leave. What will I do?_


	2. Baggage

_“This is me, far forever,_   
_One of the Lost Ones_   
_The one without a name,_   
_Without an honest heart as compass”_

_“Nemo” – Nightwish – Once_

Chapter Two - Baggage

“Deep breath, Grant,” the technician intoned as she adjusted the scanner. “Now let it out as slowly as you can. Now breathe in. Hold it.”

Wilson watched from behind the glass wall in the MRI room, his brow puckered in concentration as he went over each screen, every angle, his eyes drinking in the pictures as they came up one at a time. _Something… something wasn’t quite right,_ he thought, the frown deepening. _There had to be something he was missing. Had to be._

He’d get Foreman to look at the brain scans. The man was the finest neurosurgeon he’d ever met; if anybody could figure it out it was a fair bet that Foreman could. It was cancer; he knew that from the first look forward. But, why was the man in almost no pain, despite how ravaged his body was? When he’d questioned Brid about it she had brushed him off with a tired wave of her hand. _Everybody lies._ Now she was behind the glass with Wilson, supposedly for an update on the cancer’s progress. He hadn’t liked the idea of having her there but she’d been insistent and promised to stay out of his way. As he didn’t want her to run screaming to Cuddy he’d allowed it.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

What he didn’t want to admit was that he found the woman attractive, despite everything which screamed at him that she wasn’t his type. He was starting to wonder just exactly what “being his type” really meant, aside from the fact that he either broke up with or divorced that particular type on a regular basis.

No, falling in love with psychic Goths was not something he was particularly interested in doing. The second the “L” word hit his brain his eyebrows went up. _Oh, no. No way._ He was not going to do the head over heels business ever again.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

Wilson broke out of his pondering the meaning of love, life and the universe to find himself smiling at Brid Connors. He tried to wipe the grin off his face and barely succeeded.

“I have to say, Dr. Wilson, that you look a lot better when you’re smiling.” Dimples creased her cheeks and he couldn’t help but smile again.

“I’m not usually quite so…”

“Grumpy? Yeah, so I heard.”

“House talking out of turn again?” _The best defense was keeping busy,_ he decided as he leaned over the screen and began going over the results inch by inch.

“Not precisely.”

“Let me rephrase that. House thinking out of turn again?”

“A bit.” _That hadn’t been the only thing House had been thinking,_ Brid mused, most of it of a prurient, mocking tone that implied Wilson might be interested in more than he let on. The younger doctor had walls around his psyche that were nearly impossible to surmount. She had no business crawling through his brain, so she, aside from the outburst in the cafeteria and the nudge in Cuddy’s office, resolved to stay out. People raised walls for a reason and had the right to do so. They also had the right to decide whom to let in and whom to keep out.

For a moment another frown and a twitch in his lazy eye indicated that the revelation had fazed him, and the brief wave of emotion revealed…

“You’re jealous?”

Now a blush crawled up those handsome features and she knew she was right. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to make you feel left out. It was just that I’d never known more than one of me existed and…”

“Stop apologizing,” he interrupted gruffly. “It’s only natural you’d want to communicate with… whatever you call yourselves,” he finished lamely.

“We don’t call ‘ourselves’ anything. Not yet, anyway. Although Sabrina mentioned something about S.O.S.”

“S.O.S.?”

“Sisterhood of Sabrinas.” When Wilson looked at her askance she added, “My middle name is Sabrina, and every other one she has encountered was named Sabrina.”

“No males?”

“Not yet.”

“Healing?”

“Somewhat. Except for…” She indicated her father, still lying patiently in the MRI machine. “Cancer, for one. Incurable illnesses. And, like Sabrina, I can’t heal adults, just offer some pain relief.”

“Which explains why you won’t leave him alone for any length of time.”

She nodded, and for the first time he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, how tense her posture was. The constant monitoring of her father’s physical state was taking its toll.

“Only heal children?”

“Yeah. Which brings me to my next thought.”

“Oh?” Wilson leaned forward into the microphone. “Grant, we’re going to bring you out of the MRI machine now. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Hang in there, Dad.” Brid added, getting a dismissive wave from the older man in return.

“You were saying something about your next thought,” Wilson reminded her. 

“I noticed that the pediatric cancer ward seems… well…”

“Bleak? Understaffed? Under equipped?”

She nodded, a frown puckering her forehead. “The play room is nice, to be sure, but the entire ward could be so much more.”

“So I keep telling the board at every meeting.” He let out a sigh. “And every meeting I get the ‘our financial advisors indicate that we need to spend the money in this other department’ response.”

“Huh.”

“My feelings exactly.”

At that point they were starting to wheel her father out of the MRI room and she followed, leaving Wilson wondering why she was still wearing that frown as she left.

* * *

“I want you to get out and enjoy life.”

“Daddy…”

“Listen to me!” He sat up, wincing a bit before pulling himself together enough to fix his daughter with a glare. “You cannot sit here, watching me die…”

“You’re not dying. You need me here.”

“We’re all dying. My time is coming sooner than expected, but yes, I’m dying. As for needing you here, what you’re doing for me is admirable, but I’d rather have them prescribe something than watch you wear yourself down like this.”

“What did Dr. Wilson say?”

“So far, the tests are inconclusive, but you knew that already. No, he doesn’t have to say a thing. They told me four months, and I’m sure he’ll say the same thing once all the tests are in.”

“You can’t give up.”

“Sweetie, I’m not giving up. I’m surrendering. I’m waving the white flag. Now, honey, please don’t cry. The chemo stopped working, I’m tired, and my time is coming. When Dr. Wilson gets here I’m going to ask to stop the chemo, if he hasn’t already concluded that it needs done anyway.”

“What will I do?”

“Move on. Get your ass back out in front of audiences and show them you don’t need Thomas or any of the band members to be a success. My one wish, before I die, is to know that you’re out there, performing.”

“That’s emotional blackmail, Daddy.”

“You’re right, but it’s what I want.”

“Okay, then.”

“You’ll do it?”

A reluctant sigh, then, “I’ll do it. In fact…”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I’m thinking of doing a fundraiser.”

At that point they heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Wilson standing in the door, clipboard in hand, wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

“Bad news?” Brid asked softly, her hand reaching out to grasp her father’s. Wilson let out a sigh, then nodded, closing the door behind him as he made his way into the room. “Should I leave?”

“No, you’re fine,” Wilson replied quietly. “Grant, I’ve looked over all the tests, plus went over everything your previous oncologist had done. It looks as though he had covered all the bases and did what he was capable of doing. I’m sorry.”

Connors nodded, giving his daughter’s hand a squeeze. “I figured as much. Still about four months?”

“Possibly five. Also, there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Cutting off the chemo?” When Wilson blinked at him Grant added, “It’s just making me sicker, and I don’t think it’s doing me any good any more. I’d like to at least be able to hold down something every once in awhile.”

“I was going to suggest no more chemotherapy. I am sorry, Grant.” He gave the older man’s arm a gentle squeeze, getting a pat on the fingers in return.

“You’re doing your best, young man. Thank you. And now…” Grant Connors let out a sigh, “I just want to go home and die peacefully.”

“I can find us a place near Princeton, Daddy.”

“Not a blasted hotel room.”

“I’ll get you information on hospice care, Grant,” Wilson offered. “As for a place to stay… Brid, since you’re friends with Sabrina, ask her if her husband’s old apartment is still vacant. It’s very comfortable and not too far from the hospital.”

“Or you could ask him.”

Wilson flushed and lowered his eyes. “I think it would be better coming from you.”

“Like I said before, a year is a long time to carry all that anger and to not forgive someone for something beyond his control.”

“I… can’t right now. Maybe someday.”

“Just don’t let the maybes become the woulda shoulda couldas, Dr. Wilson.”

With that, she gave her father a reassuring pat on the arm, then walked out to go and search for House, leaving both men to stare after her. Finally Grant stirred and lifted a brow at the younger man.

“Like my daughter, do you?”

“What? No! I mean… no!” _The blush heating his cheeks were a dead giveaway,_ Wilson thought uneasily. He felt the flush deepen as Grant gave him a hard stare.

“I have no objections if you want to see her, Dr. Wilson. However, I think you have some personal business you need to clear up, first. My girl isn’t one to allow someone with a lot of unneeded baggage into her life.”

“I’ll… give the matter some thought,” Wilson finally said, nodding to the older man as he ducked quickly out the door and made his escape.


	3. The Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It’s my understanding that in larger metropolitan areas it’s not unusual for residential apartments to be occupied by owners instead of tenants. Therefore, I’m going on the premise that House has owned his apartment instead of renting it.

_“Why am I loved only when I'm gone?_   
_Gone back in time to bless the child_   
_Think of me long enough to make a memory_   
_Come bless the child one more time”_

_“Bless The Child” – Nightwish – Oceanborn_

Times being what they were, House hadn’t been able to sell his old apartment. Instead, the couple used it for when Whistle Stop was in town. Occasionally Mike, Sabrina’s son, would borrow it when friends came to visit. Aside from that, it had sat vacant ever since House had moved in with Sabrina a few years back.

_Only,_ Wilson mused as he helped unpack kitchen items, _it wasn’t vacant anymore._ Grant had fallen in love with the old sprawled-out apartment, which had ample room for a hospital bed in one corner of the living room – the corner that used to contain House’s piano. The old bathtub on legs presented a problem for the patient, causing House to flat-out order it ripped out and a large, walk-in shower with a bench put in to replace it.

The man himself was in the living room, yelling at the movers and being a general pain-in-the-ass. Wilson grinned in spite of himself, shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?” Brid asked softly as she removed glasses one-by-one and lined them up neatly on a shelf. “Him?” She indicated her head in the direction of the living room. Wilson rolled his eyes and nodded, causing her to chuckle. “He is a bit… blunt, isn’t he?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“He’s also very kind and generous.”

“Dear God, don’t tell him that. He’ll be even ruder just to prove a point. He’ll just say he’s trying to score brownie points with a rock star, or something…”

“Which is exactly what I’m doing.”

They both turned to see House leaning against the door sill, one brow lifted sardonically. “I mean, are you kidding me? My street cred will soar when word gets out that Brid Connors hung out in my pad. I’ll be beating reporters off with a stick.”

“You mean your cane, House. And of course Heaven forbid you’d have even a touch of altruism in that cold, cold heart of yours,” was Wilson’s easy retort. “Now, do us all a favor. Go back and boss the movers around some more so that everyone can see that deep down inside, you really are a jackass.”

“What? Do something you actually want me to do? This is me we’re discussing, you know.”

“Well, you can help in the kitchen.”

“Dishes?” Now House looked horrified. “I’ll go back to bossing the movers.”

“Thought you’d see things my way.”

The faint mutter of, “Asshole” wafted back at them as House spun on his heels and went back into the living room. Brid giggled and Wilson let a chuckle escape him. _That,_ he admitted to himself, _had felt good._ Their old way of bandying words had come back to both naturally, without missing a beat.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Brid asked as she put away the last glass. Wilson let out a deep sigh, then nodded. “Then, tell him that.” She laid her hand on his arm, gazing at him in such a way that his heart started to race. He acted on pure reflex, letting his hair fall forward and his grin go lopsided.

“So, that’s what House meant.” Brid let her hand stay in the same position, her eyes twinkling.

“Huh? What?”

“He said you had this ‘panty-peeler’ look…”

“He does!” House shouted from the living room, causing Wilson to go bright red.

“Greg…”

“House…”

“Shut up!” came out in unison and they both stared at each other, then began laughing, Wilson’s embarrassment fading.

“Fucking stereo,” House grumbled from the living room. Brid tittered and leaned against Wilson, dabbing at the resulting tears in her eyes and smearing some of her black mascara in the process.

“Well, there goes that for the day,” she said ruefully, looking at her blackened fingertips with a wry grin.

“Here. Allow me.” He tore off a paper towel, moistened it under the faucet, then began wiping off each fingertip, one at a time, still grinning. “Good thing you don’t have a mirror handy.”

“Pretty horrifying?”

“Let’s just say that the Wicked Witch of the West has nothing on you.”

“Some panty peeler you are.”

“So, why?”

“Why … what?”

“Why all the Goth makeup, clothes? The mascara?”

“Because it’s fun. I like the drama, and it goes with my music.”

“Speaking of which.” Now it was Sabrina standing in the door, her dark wavy hair pulled back into a bushy ponytail, wiping perspiration from her forehead. “You wanted to talk with me about something? Verbally?”

“Yes, I wanted James’ input on this.”

At the use of Wilson’s first name Sabrina lifted a brow at him as if to say, “Oh, really?” Aloud she said, “Let’s see if the living room has enough furniture setup for us to take a break. That beer Greg stashed in the fridge should be cold enough by now.”

Upon entering the room they found House already settled in a recliner, hand extended out for the beer his wife had for him. He gave Sabrina a leer and patted his lap. “You know your place, woman,” he told her, grinning when she settled onto his good leg and draped her legs across the arm of the chair. “This is the life. Cold beer, hot woman, comfortable recliner.”

“In which order?”

“Ahead of the recliner, of course. Behind the beer, but ahead of the recliner.”

“Greg, darling, remember the bit about ‘knowing my place?’”

“Which you do.”

“Which I do,” Sabrina agreed. “However, I’m not sure we’ve defined ‘my place’ in the manner I’m thinking.”

“Which is?”

“Behind you, with my foot up your ass.”

“Now THAT’S a woman who knows her place,” Brid interjected, fidgeting nervously with her beer. “Listen, before you two make out and make up, I really need to talk about something.”

“So, talk,” House commanded, his tone contrasting with the affectionate way he had Sabrina snuggled up against him.

“I’ve been thinking about a fund raising concert for PPTH’s Pediatric Cancer Ward, seeing as how apparently there’s not enough funding to do it right. According to James, anyway.” As Wilson nodded she added, “It’s bad enough for adults. Watching my dad slip away a little every day has been killing me. I can’t imagine being a child, or having to be a parent in that position.”

Wilson sat in stunned silence, trying to digest what she’d just proposed. _Money, for the kids? Those little, mostly bald children that took so much of his time and energy? He could get newer equipment, liven up the rooms, maybe take on additional personnel._ His mind was awhirl with ideas.

“I think you’ve rendered Jimmy speechless,” Sabrina said dryly, “and I’ve never known him to be at a loss for words.”

“I’m… at a loss for words, just like you said,” Wilson admitted. “I… keep going, I’m still thinking.”

“So, what you’re saying, Brid, is that you’d like for the band and me to be a part of it.”

“If you would, yes.”

“Metal and bluegrass all under one roof? That thought alone oughta draw a crowd. Tell you what.” Sabrina paused to sip her beer. “I know a couple of really good, honest professional fundraisers who could pull this off. What say you and I get with one of them and see what can be done?”

“So, you’ll do it?” Brid asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Sabrina nodded. “And, we’ll need more artists, more bands.”

“A festival of sorts.”

“You’ll need a band.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll find you one.”

“Tee shirts, promos… oh my God.”

“That, Brid, is why I suggested getting a professional.”

“Ah.”

“Strippers?” House asked hopefully.

“Only if you’re up to taking it off in front of a crowd, Greg,” was Sabrina’s reply.

“Very funny. Har, har.”

“I like it,” Wilson finally said. At the strange looks he got he added, “Not the bit about House stripping before a crowd. I mean this whole … fund raising thing. We’ve had fundraisers at the hospital, but not one like this. So yeah, whatever you guys can do, I’ll gladly take.”

“Gotta clear it with Cuddy and the board.”

Wilson let his hair fall forward and batted his eyelashes, getting an eyeroll from House. “Trust me, they’ll clear it. Come on.” He extended his hand to Brid. “Let’s get this moving nonsense done so I can kick your Dad out of his room and into some place more comfortable.”

“But James, I don’t wanna,” she whined, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Moving sucks.” She let Wilson pull her reluctantly to her feet. “I’m a famous rock star. Other people do these things, not me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Miss Famous Rock Star. Get your lazy ass in here.”

Once in the kitchen he steered her up against the counter, then grasped both of her hands in his. “I want to thank you. For everything,” he murmured softly. “I also want to apologize for my behavior when we first met. I was being a horse’s ass.”

“But a cute one.” A blush spread over her cheeks at the admission and he smiled. “Apology accepted,” she breathed, her eyes dilating slightly when he let her hands rest against his chest and wound his arms around her. Oh, that was lovely, she thought, enjoying the play of muscles beneath her fingertips, the way his long lashes fluttered as he lowered them. He was so warm and delicious feeling.

“I think I’d like to kiss you.”

“I think I’d like that, too.”

With that, James cast caution to the wind and lowered his mouth to hers.


	4. Chapter Four

_"Come cover me with you_   
_For the thrill_   
_Till you will take me in_   
_Come comfort me in you_   
_Young love must_   
_Live twice only for us”_   
  
_“Come Cover Me” – Nightwish – Wishmaster_

  
Chapter Four – Yin and Yang

James’ lips brushed lightly over Brid’s and she sighed, then slid her arms around his waist to pull him closer to her. The second kiss had more intent, his lips parting against hers, encouraging her to respond in kind so that his tongue could skip lightly over hers. Now that was a kiss, she thought, caressing his back and getting a soft groan from him.

“I want to see you,” he muttered against her lips. “Outside of this whole doctor-patient thing we have going here. I know you’re busy now,” he added as she started to speak, “but you’ll catch a breather at some point and I want to be there. Understood?”

“Oh, I understand, and I agree. I want to see you, as well.” There, she’d admitted she found him attractive and the relief was overwhelming. His smile, all tinged with her dark lipstick, warmed her down to her toes. “You’ve got a problem, though.”

“What?”

She dampened another paper towel and began dabbing at his lips. “You go back out there with this,” she presented the colorful results, “and Greg will never let you live it down.”

“Better keep that towel handy,” he said softly, “because…” he lowered his head to hers again. That time she accepted his greedy tongue as it dove into her mouth, seeking, taking, plundering with a message that she got loud and clear.

“I think… I think I got the point,” she murmured, dabbing at his lips again with the paper towel.

“I think you did, too,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “And at this point I’d better stop, or the next kiss might find you spread on this counter.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“When I need to be, yes. Note that ‘need’ and ‘want’ aren’t necessarily one and the same.”

“Noted.”

“And, in case you don’t know by now, your lipstick is gone.”

“Nice work, James.”

“We aim to please.”

“He always does!” House shouted out from the livingroom.

“Greg…”

“House…”

“Shut up!” came out in unison again.

“Still in fucking stereo,” was House’s muttered reply as everyone went back to work.

* * *

Grant took one look at the arrangements and called it good. He leaned on his walker, a huge smile on his face as he regarding the homey touches, the family pictures. There had been no siblings, so there were pictures of Grant and his daughter, ones including his late wife and her mother, Trina, some of all three in happy moments, grandparents, and the occasional cat or dog that had made their way through their lives. That combined with the brooding artwork that had consumed much of Brid’s childhood past time, lent just the right feel to House’s former bachelor pad.

Also present was this old, very ridiculous-looking, at least in James’ opinion, brass lamp with a trim of fake crystals dangling from the shade. It was parked on an end table next to the lift chair and other belongings from Seattle.

“I have to ask,” Wilson finally admitted, his brow crinkled. “What’s the story behind that… thing?”

Grant reclined back into his lift chair with a sigh. “That, Dr. Wilson, is my whore house lamp.”

“Your… what?”

“My whore house lamp. You see, we didn’t always have a lot of money, and what few lamps we had were falling apart. She told you that her mom died in a car accident, right?” When Wilson nodded, Grant continued. “So, I was hoping my daughter would be able to help me when something needed ‘a woman’s touch,’ so to speak. One day I sent Brid up to the local thrift shop and told her to find us a basic lamp to go in the living room. Well, she came back with … this thing, and all I could think of was that it looked like it belonged in a house of ill repute. I called it a whore house lamp, and I’ve had it ever since.”

“And you wouldn’t part with it for the world.”

“Never. Lesson to be learned? Never send a Goth chick up to buy a lamp.”

“Thanks a lot, Dad,” Brid came out of the kitchen with a glass of water, which she set on the end table. “There. Here’s the remote, your cheaters and the big screen. House’s fireplace is gas, so we can light it easily any time we feel. Magazines here, books on the shelves, DVDs next to the TV.”

“That walk-in shower was sure nice of him.”

“God, don’t ever, ever tell Greg House that he’s being nice,” was Brid’s reply. “Private nurse will start on Monday and stay until further notice, hospice nurse will come two-three times a week as needed.”

“And now you can get out. Perform.”

“Already working on it, Dad. And I think... the Internet is up and functioning. Let me check.” She indicated the sofa for Wilson, then grabbed her laptop off the desk and sat down next to him. “Before you ask, Dad, yes, your laptop is on the bottom shelf of that end table.”

“Let me know if it's working. I need to update my Facebook status.”

“Ah! One Internet up and in action!” Brid leaned comfortable against Wilson, trying to ignore the way her heart thudded when he nuzzled her hair. “Email? On my private address...” She went still, her features growing pale. “Tommy.”

“What the hell does that little piss ant want?” Grant gave her a long, hard look. “Don't open it, honey, he's not worth it.”

“Brid?” Wilson spun the laptop to face him, his eyes skimming over the page until he saw the email. He began reading the email out loud, feeling himself start to tremble with rage.

“Hardenthomas@...

Subject: It'll Never Happen

I heard you were trying to start something on your own. It won't work. I've seen to it that every promoter in the States thinks you're poison. Remember, you're nothing without me. Oh, maybe in some foreign country. But in America you're NOTHING.”

Wilson closed the lid of the laptop and set it out of her reach. _How dare he... what had Grant just called him? A little piss ant. One thing about piss ants,_ he thought, _is that they were squashed real easily._

“He fired YOU. What the holy hell is his problem?” Wilson noticed that Grant was doing his best to keep his temper in check, drawing in one deep breath after another. Hastily James moved to kneel next to the older man, pulling his stethoscope out and quickly going over him.

“That's the best, just deep, slow breaths, Grant,” he said softly. “Don't tax yourself.” Weakly the other man waved him off, nodding. “I'm sorry I read the damned thing out loud.”

“I would have dragged it out of her anyway,” Grant replied, patting Wilson on the hand. “Stop fretting, young man. You might want to check on my daughter instead.”

_Dammit!_ James rushed back to the sofa to find Brid staring off into space, her eyes wide, features set with stony determination.

“I'm okay, James,” she said softly as he pulled her to him. “I don't know why I'm surprised. Tommy always did need to be in control.”

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Why did he fire you? What's going on with this crap?”

“Well...”

“I’ll start,” Grant said firmly. “You know by now that my daughter is a soprano, right?” When James nodded he continued. “Born natural, by the way. Belonged to concert choir in high school, had a little formal training in college, and that was it.” He gave Brid a proud smile. “My little girl has always had the voice of an angel. For whatever reason she wanted to sing heavy metal.”

“So, Daddy has visions of the opera, daughter has visions of head-banging. Got it.” Wilson couldn’t help but grin at the contrast.

“Her mother always told me to be patient; that Brid would find her path, and I can honestly say that Trina was right.”

“I was considered unique in the States. They’d begun experimenting with symphonic metal over in Europe years before, but I broke through here. Oh, we never hit the Top Ten, but we charted in the top fifty, which metal bands have a hard time doing,” Brid filled in. “At first that was good enough for everyone. We got huge draws at concerts, sometimes we’d actually sell-out arenas. All was good. Had fun, and made money doing what I love to do.”

“Then, that piss ant…”

“Dad…”

“Sorry, but that’s all I’ll ever call him.”

“Tommy wanted to go bigger. He wanted to chart to the top, he was determined we would, in fact. As far as he was concerned, it was my voice holding us back. So I…” She took a deep breath before continuing, “I did what he asked. I sang pop-style, for one album, and it was the most miserable thing I could have done. I sold out.”

“You most certainly did NOT sell out,” Grant snapped back at her. “It was never your idea to begin with and you did what you thought you were supposed to do.”

“So, if you did what he asked, then why did he fire you?” Wilson finally asked.

“Because when I got in front of all those people on the stage I just couldn’t do it,” was her quiet reply. “I’d read reviews that said we’d ‘sold out’ and I wanted to prove everyone wrong. So, for that tour I sang my way, not Tommy’s vision of super stardom. Last day of the tour, right after the show, I got an email from Tommy saying that since I didn’t share their vision that I was fired.”

“Classy.”

“Of course, they hired a pop singer to replace me. Charted even lower than we had. I hear Angela can’t even sing the entire catalog and lately…”

“Fans don’t appreciate being sold out like that,” Wilson replied grimly.

“Yeah. They’re booing her off the stage.” Brid sighed. “I suppose I should feel sorry for her, but dammit, that’s my job she’s got. She didn’t ask for this, but it doesn’t make me resent her any less.”

“And now he’s sending you hate email. Nice guy.”

“Sabrina is putting out feelers for a new band like she said she would. Word must’ve gotten back to him.”

“Gonna let that piss ant stop you?” Grant turned to fully face her, his brown eyes snapping with the challenge.

“No, Dad, of course not. Might have to change my private email address, though.”

“You do that,” Wilson agreed. “Leave this one active, though.” At the blank stare she gave him he added, “In case he tries to escalate his behavior. Somehow, I don’t think a judge would take too kindly to threats, wouldn’t you agree, Grant?”

“Dr. Wilson, you’re a man after my own heart.”


	5. Chapter Five

_“Apart from the wandering pack_   
_In this brief flight of time we reach_   
_For the ones, whoever dare_

_You believe but what you see_   
_You receive but what you give”_

_“Amaranth” – Nightwish – Dark Passion Play_

Chapter Five – Best-Laid Plans

Never had Brid dreamed that one benefit concert would require so much paperwork – much of it going to the promoters, the hospital board of directors and the fund raising committee they were setting up. Usually their manager had handled everything when it came to concerts. Now, with no manager and no band, she faced the brunt of it headlong.

Finally, relief came from an unexpected direction – in the form of Cole Nash, Night’s Desire’s manager. The lanky manager showed up on her doorstep early in the fundraiser negotiations, looking none the worse for wear.

“That Tommy is one crazy motherfucker,” he commented as he sank with relief onto the sofa, pushing his straggly brown hair back from his eyes. “Pardon my French,” he added apologetically to Grant, who waved him off. “First he fires Brid, then when he hears about this thing you’re doing, he goes crazy. What my nephew calls a ‘wtf’ moment. Trashes the recording studio. I about called security on him.”

“So, did he fire you, as well?” Brid asked as she handed him a beer.

“Hell no, Brid. I quit. I’d rather be without work than deal with that maniac. Not that I’m without work; I’ve got a few other acts to keep track of without him. But…”

“Yes, I’d like you to be my manager.”

“Wow, that easy, huh? You’re not sore at me for not fighting Tommy when he shit-canned you?”

“I don’t think he gave anyone a lot of choice.”

“Well, I’ll get the paperwork over to you tomorrow.”

“Good, because you’ll be busy getting together with Sabrina’s manager and everyone else involved.”

“You still need a band?”

“Hasn’t left her mind. Fretting over a band.” Grant piped up from his chair. “I keep telling her that there’s some fresh young talent out there looking to be scooped up and shown off, she just keeps sulking. Dr. Wilson keeps telling her the same thing, but does she listen?”

“Dr. Wilson?” _It was amazing the way Nash’s brows vanished under that shaggy hair,_ Brid thought with amusement.

“My oncologist. Her boyfriend. And unless I’m mistaken…”

A light knock resounded on the door just before Wilson stepped in, key in hand. He’d never given up House’s old apartment key, nobody had asked for it back, and neither of the Connors found it an issue. It was just unspoken that James had a key to the place and he preferred to keep it that way.

“So, what’s with the group of people standing on the sidewalk?” he asked as he leaned over to give Brid a brief, but thorough kiss that left her flushed and him grinning. That “seeing her” bit had yet to come, but he was going to make sure every single time he saw her that she would be reminded of his intentions.

“Uh, I was just getting to that,” Nash said sheepishly as he got to his feet. Wilson raised a brow at him speculatively, then at Brid as if to say, “well?”

“My former-now-current manager, Cole Nash. Cole, this is James Wilson, my dad’s oncologist.”

“Among other things, I hear,” Cole said agreeably as the two men shook hands.

“You hear right. As to the people on the sidewalk?” James knew he was coming across as territorial. _Somebody needed to make it clear that nobody was going to hurt Brid, and he was the man who could do it. House would find it amusing._

“Well…” Cole walked over to the door. “God, help us all,” he muttered aloud as he opened it and gave a jerk of his head. He then stepped back as three men and one woman walked inside, all wearing nervous expressions.

“What the…” Brid had rose to her feet, only to stand frozen, her expression that of shock as the remaining members of Night’s Desire, except for Thomas, stood in front of her. One, a long-haired bearded blond, stepped forward, arms extended. “Mark?”

Suddenly he engulfed her and began swinging her around, kissing her on the cheek as tears began pouring down her face. “Oh, Brid, honey, how I’ve missed you!” he exclaimed, while the other men crowded around them, leaving the woman hanging back, chewing nervously on one long nail.

“James!” Brid reached through the humanity and grabbed his arm. “James, these guys are…”

“Let me guess. Your former band mates, right? This would be Mark, you’re Eric, and you’re Julien.” He shook hands with each one, then reached out to the woman, who looked as though she was going to burst into tears. “I’m guessing you’re Angela.” At the look Brid gave him he added, “Google is my friend. I did my homework.”

“Angie is fine,” the other woman finally murmured softly. “I… I… Bridgette?”

James wound an arm around Brid, feeling her tremble as she faced her replacement, the long lanky brunette who had changed the course of her life. “I-I don’t know what to say, Angie. Because of you… I just don’t know. Dear God.”

“I understand. I just… I understand. None of it matters anymore, though.”

“Why?”

“We walked out. For good.”

* * *

 

After agreeing that more space, a place to stretch out and room to possibly jam a bit was in order, Brid called up Sabrina. Grant had been firm about staying at home with the private nurse, insisting he would be fine and that, once again, she “needed to get out more.” Reluctantly she’d conceded, promising to fill him in once she was home.

Within an hour all were comfortably ensconced in Sabrina’s great room, with Elaine the housekeeper playing bartender and House looking like a kid let loose in a very large candy store. Sabrina had called her son and now Mike was playing a soft tune on House’s baby grand piano, Angela next to him, offering him pointers.

“So, now that we can all sit and face each other, what the hell happened?” Brid asked, leaning forward and allowing Wilson to give her a badly-needed neck rub. Damn, the man had hands that wouldn’t quit, she thought, sighing when he hit a particularly tense spot and began working on it with his fingertips.

“Well, you know this festival you’re putting together? It’s already the talk of the industry.” At the blank stares Angela got she asked, “You haven’t heard? Scuttlebutt has it that agents are waiting for any indication that they can line up their artists. We wanted to be a part of it, not only because of the publicity, but because…” She flushed with embarrassment. “Because all of us have had our lives touched by cancer. This thing, this is real that you’re doing.”

“So, who had the balls to bring it up to Tommy?” House asked as he fetched his Dobro off the wall and handed it to Eric.

“I was the one,” Mark replied with a shake of his head. “Three days ago, to be exact. We were mixing in the studio when I suggested how cool it would be to perform the song at this fest. Tommy...”

“Lost it,” Julien finished for him. “He started screaming about how if he couldn't have Brid perform his way, then nobody should have her performing at all. The 'dead boy poet' freaked. Completely freaked. Never saw anything like it in my life.”

“Cole tried reasoning with him, get him to calm down.”

“Dude, there was no calming Tommy down,” was Cole's reply. “It was either call the police or bail. I bailed. Told Tommy to find himself another manager, got my things and left. Later that night these bums show up at my place and I find out they've quit, as well.”

“So Night's Desire is no more,” Brid said into the resulting silence.

“Not as Tommy envisions it, no.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning... if you still need a band, this one is available.”

“Minus Tommy.”

“Damn straight.”

“What about... her?” Brid indicated Angela with a nod of her head.

“I can do other things besides sing. I can play the piano, although I'm not the genius that Tommy is,” Angela admitted. “There is... something else I can do. Mark's been helping me with it.”

“Which is?”

“Growl.”

“As in 'Mark's always been our growler, now you can, too' kind of growling?”

“I know that sounds strange, but I swear.”

“She can,” Mark interjected. “She's as good as any guy I've ever heard.”

“Listen, I'm prepared to not be with you guys. We all agreed you might not take to having me in the band. But, Brid, I'd like to try and prove to you that you and I can work together. I can sing backup, I can growl, I can fit in. I want to try.”

“Brid?” Wilson's voice was breathy against her ear. “Come on. Man up and let her try.”

“No fair using neck rubs and panty-peeling techniques on me,” she groused, hearing his low chuckle as he moved those amazing hands to her shoulders. “Dammit, James, I get the point. Don't stop what you're doing, though.”

“So?”

“James, don't push your luck.”

“It's not my luck I'm wanting to push,” he whispered, just soft enough to tickle her ear.

“Okay, okay. I get it. No comments on what from the peanut gallery,” she added, glaring at Wilson. “Angela's in. Don't make me regret it, Angie,” she continued, fending off a hug from Angie, then caving in, then giggling as everyone surrounded her. “Damn! I'm drowning in hugs!”

“So, does this call for a celebration?” Mark looked hopefully at the wall that contained House’s guitars. House merely grinned and handed Mark his Flying V.

“Now, this is gonna do wild things to my street cred,” he said as he passed out instruments, indicating the amp on the floor next to his baby grand. “Plug ‘em in there. Come on, bluegrass lady, you too.” He picked up the case containing her violin and handed it to her, then moved over to where Wilson was sitting with Brid on his lap. “I, uh, don’t know if you play anything and …” His voice trailed off into silence as his eyes met Wilson’s.

For a long moment the two gazed at each other with uncertainty. Wilson felt a shiver come off of Brid, then … something brushed through him, soft, warm, caring, but with a tinge of sadness. He frowned at Brid and noticed her eyes were closed, jaw slightly slack.

“Not from me,” she muttered, pressing herself closer to him, still shivering.

_Forgive. Help him to forgive._

_Amber?_

_Forgive, James._

_He could almost see the blonde hair, the expressive eyes and ivory skin. He had loved, and lost her. Now he had a new love. It was time to move forward._

“I will.”

He regained focus to see that House looked as shaken as he felt. “Damn, I thought she’d stayed on the bus,” the older man murmured, wiping the corners of his eyes. “Guess I was wrong.”

“We need to talk,” was Wilson’s reply. “After…” He waved one hand in the direction of the crowd that was forming around the piano.

“God, I hate talking,” House replied with a roll of his eyes. He then winced and ducked when Sabrina mock-swung her violin at him.

“Do it, Greg. No whining, either,” she said firmly.

“Okay, okay. We’ll ‘talk.’ No hugging, though. No touchy-feely ‘I’m in touch with my sensitive side’ kind of crap.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wilson replied with a smirk as they joined the crowd at the piano.


	6. Chapter Six

_"The constant longing for your touch_   
_This bitter ocean of hatred and pain_   
_This loneliness I need to be who I am_

_The oceans are alone as I_   
_Somebody take away this gift of mine_   
_No charisma for the beast! But still I love you forevermore”_

_“Astral Romance” – Nightwish – Over The Hills and Far Awake EP_

Chapter Six – Forgiveness

As it turned out, neither House nor Wilson could hold out even a few minutes. They both disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, with House giving his wife a look that plainly stated, “Keep out” as he raised psychic walls so thick that not even she could get through.

“Needs privacy,” she admitted to Brid as they rejoined the group, which by then had pulled every available chair into a circle that included the piano. “After everyone leaves I’ll try and drag all the details out of him.”

“What happened, anyway?”

“I never did get it all out of Greg. These things always happen when I’m out on tour. Except for the time he was shot. I was in the pediatric ward when that happened. This one, I was in Portland, Oregon. They couldn’t get me home fast enough. Got here only to find Greg coming out of it, very close to having been brain damaged, and Jimmy not speaking to him. Apparently Greg had gotten drunk at a local bar and since Jimmy was at work, Greg somehow wound up with his girlfriend Amber coming to take him home. Greg being Greg he refused and decided to take a bus. Amber went with him, there was an accident, and she died resulting from a combination of medication she’d been taking and her injuries. Jimmy blamed Greg and it went downhill from there.”

“It’s been over a year, hasn’t it? Took them this long.”

“Yeah.”

“Both are stubborn.”

At that Sabrina laughed. “Honestly, in this case, Greg, in his own warped way, tried to do something about it. This time it was James who held out. Weird. I did tell him that telling James to ‘grow a plant’ for a change of scenery wasn’t the wisest remark he could have made.”

“Amber was blonde with blue eyes?”

“That’s the one.”

 

* * *

 

Once in the kitchen House turned to face Wilson, his face set in impassive lines. Wilson had known him enough over the years to realize the stonier the expression, the more emotions House was trying to hide. Right now House’s face was as hard as granite. The only tell Wilson could spot was the white-knuckled grip on his cane.

“You wanted to talk, so talk.”

Wilson’s hand went to rub the back of his neck instinctively – his own tell, he realized ruefully. “I, uh, well…”

“Now this is what I call a great conversation.”

“House! You know, this isn’t easy for me.” When House raised a brow at him he added, “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“Wilson, either start talking or I’m going back to join the crowd.”

“I was wrong, okay?”

“Which time?”

_Ouch._ “I was wrong … in asking you to go through that brain probe. It could have killed you.”

“So my wife keeps saying. She was pretty fucking furious with you.” House let out a sigh, then continued. “Keep going.”

“Why did you let me talk you into it?”

“Because, dumbass, you were my friend. I wanted to help. Little did I know you’d use what you found against me. Which brings us to…”

“My blaming you for Amber’s death. I was wrong there, too.”

“Wilson, on the bus, I tried everything I could to save her. I tried.” House closed his eyes, as if remembering every hellish detail. Tears leaked at the corners of his eyes and he wiped at them hurriedly. “She told me I had your hatred coming, that I deserved it, and I believed her. I didn’t want to live but she said I had to.”

“She?”

“Amber.”

“What?” Wilson’s eyes were huge. “Are you saying…”

“I saw Amber. She made me go back and live. And then I woke up and saw you turn away from me.”

“Dear God.”

“She’s still around, you know.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve seen her.” Brid waved around the corners of her eyes. “She drifts around a bit. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes I just feel her. I saw her before I met James.”

“Interesting. I wonder what her middle name was?” Sabrina mused.

“If we find out it was Sabrina I’m going to go outside and scream.”

At that moment the two men reappeared, House wiping at his eyes, which were red-rimmed, and Wilson blowing his nose into a handkerchief. They were both talking quietly, easy with each other. House walked over to the piano, nudged Mike aside, sat down, then yelled out, “Is this a party or a wake?” as he broke into some blues, his clear blue eyes shining with mischief when the other musicians joined in.

* * *

 

“Well, that was a night.”

“Get everything resolved with Greg?”

Wilson had insisted on taking Brid home, forcing himself to not think about how this was their first time completely alone together. “Yeah, I think so. He deserved no less,” he added wryly.

“You’re right.”

_Ouch. Again._ “I’ve been told I’m a stubborn son-of-a-bitch.”

“From what I’ve seen, I’d say that was a correct assessment.”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Nope.”

“There is one thing I’m very stubborn about.”

“What’s that?”

“Seeing you.”

She scooted over closer to him and linked her arm through his, leaning up to nuzzle his ear. He shivered and she chuckled softly. “There are some things it’s good to be stubborn about,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss on the side of his neck.

“Dammit, Brid, I’m trying to drive.”

“Then stop driving.” Now her hand was on his knee and he began looking frantically for somewhere, anywhere he could pull over. A park entrance. Perfect. He steered the Volvo down the gravel drive to the parking lot, then pulled as far away from the street light as possible.

Before he knew it he had her in his arms, her mouth yielding to his, parting for the warm intrusion of his tongue. Her hands played across his back, stroking and kneading the firm muscles that rippled with each touch.

“So,” she gasped out as he began planting a series of moist kisses down the side of her neck, his tongue flicking at her pulse point. “Are we seeing each other now?”

James chuckled softly. “Yeah, I believe we are,” he said to the soft skin just beneath her earlobe. He nipped lightly at the tender flesh and felt her shudder.

“Good to know that if I’m making out with someone I’m also going out with him.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

She disentangled herself from his arms, then rose to climb over the seats, grinning at the perplexed look on his face. “Come on, James, into the back seat with you.”

“What? You mean… what?” _He looked so endearing with that, “Who, me?” expression on his face,_ she thought as she settled herself in the back seat, then spread her thighs suggestively.

“Come on, you can’t make out effectively with a transmission hump in the way, James. And no fair using the door,” she added as he started to open the front door. “Climb.”

“Getting too old for this shit,” he mumbled as he climbed into the back seat. “I’m a departmental head at a hospital, I live a respectable life.”

“You’re a doctor, you drive a Volvo. Time to shake up that respectability just a bit,” was her reply as she extended her arms out to him. He evaded her grasp and instead sat with his back to the door, then pulled her to sit across his lap.

“Much better,” he said softly, thrusting his growing erection against the juncture of her thighs. She giggled and thrust back, causing his jaw to go slack, a long groan coming from his throat. His hands pulled her harder against him, his mouth covering hers.

Her tongue tangled with his, exploring his mouth, inviting him to do the same. He let his hands slide up to cup her breasts, thumbs raking lightly over her nipples that hardened through her clothing. She arched and broke off the kiss, shuddering with each caress of his fingertips.

“So much... for... respectability,” she gasped out, clinging to him. He laughed softly, letting one hand trail down to the waistband of her jeans. “Full of surprises, aren't we?”

“Sometimes I surprise myself,” he admitted, groaning with frustration when the waistband button didn't pop open easily. “Dammit, woman, your jeans are acting like a chastity belt.”

“Dumb things. Here, allow me...”

A loud pounding on the fogged window made them both startle, then cringe when a flashlight shown on them. “Cops,” Wilson hissed, pulling her clothes to rights as the officer pounded again. _Amazing how fast his erection went down,_ he thought ruefully as he helped her off his lap and rolled down the window. “Uh, yes, officer?”

The cop stared at him as though he'd grown two heads. “I was going to ask what was going on here, but I think it's pretty obvious, Mr....”

“Wilson. Dr. James Wilson.”

“Doctor. Explains the Volvo.” Now the cop was grinning ear-to-ear as he accepted Wilson's driver's license, then indicated for Brid to do the same. “Bridgette Connors. As in Night's Desire?”

“One and the same.”

“My wife is a big fan of yours,” the officer replied as he handed them both back their IDs. “Now, I'm not going to run your licenses, nor search for contraband. Just... go elsewhere. Get a room. Anything.”

“Thanks, officer,” Wilson replied as the cop walked away. He turned to Brid, wearing a sheepish grin. “I'll take you home.” 


	7. Chapter 7

_“Would you do it with me_   
_Heal the scars and change the stars_   
_Would you do it for me_   
_Turn loose the heaven within”_

_“Ever Dream” – Nightwish – Century Child_

Chapter Seven – Taking Flight

AN: Digital Mellotrons didn’t come out until 2010. I’m playing fast and loose with the timeline, here.

[ http://www.mellotron.com/digital-mellotron.html ](http://www.mellotron.com/digital-mellotron.html)

One frustrated good-night kiss later found Wilson wanting to bang his forehead on the steering wheel. That, he thought unhappily, had not quite gone the direction he'd hoped. He hadn't exactly struck out, but the presence of a police officer had decidedly killed the mood. All that warm, willing woman in his arms, then BAM. There he was, alone, frustrated and horny. Longingly he watched the same warm, willing woman let herself into the apartment she shared with her dad, and vowed that next time – if there was a next time and he fervently hoped there would be – they would be in a location much more accommodating than a public park.

With that vow he gunned the accelerator, then pulled the Volvo away from the curb, letting the tires squeal as he went.

* * *

 

Never was Brid so relieved in her life than at the moment Cole took over her end of the fundraiser. He dove in head first and smoothed out contractual areas that Brid was lost at approaching.

Names for the music festival had been bandied around, shot down, revived and discussed until one was settled on that everybody agreed with.

“She was, after all, a protector of children,” Sabrina commented as the two women conferred over tea in Sabrina's kitchen.

“She also kicked some major ass,” was Brid's reply. “So, 'Artemis Fest' it is?”

“Works for me.”

The lineup went through its own growing pains, forcing them to spread the entire festival over two days. In the mix were enough music genres to give the promoters nightmares. They finally agreed to focus on the common ground instead of what they didn't share, and that was the battle against cancer.

Then there were the sessions Brid had with Night's Desire. They'd agreed that after having been separated from her for nearly a year they should rehearse the set, and rehearse they did. New songs were worked in, along with Angela's growling vocals lending a unique twist. They were, however, missing one thing.

A keyboardist.

A really good keyboardist.

Try as Cole might, finding someone who could play like Tommy was turning into a fruitless search. Even getting a keyboardist just for the rehearsals and the festival had turned up a big fat nothing. House's name was brought up, considered, then decided on – he would play the piano for both Sabrina and Brid, but they needed someone else to play the stacks of synthesizers Night’s Desire was known for. When they informed House that he'd have his moments on the stage they all saw something very rarely seen from him – a smile. With teeth.

Finally inspiration came from Julien, and as he admitted later, he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him earlier.

“You know, guys, I'm friends with Matt and Michael Lee Pinder, right?” The lanky blond was leaning against House's piano, having been quiet while the other band members and Sabrina debated the issue.

“Mike Pinder's sons? What about them?” Mark asked in response. “Last I heard they were touring up the West Coast. Neither of them would have time for this.”

“They might not, but what about their old man?” At the stunned silence he received Julien added, “I mean, let's face it. If it wasn't for Mike and his Mellotron it's likely none of us would be here. He helped start the whole symphonic rock thing with the Moody Blues. And, I'll just bet he can play a synth with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.”

Heads swung to stare at Cole, whose jaw was slack with astonishment. “You want me to ask _the_ Mike Pinder to join us for the fest.”

“Yeah, that's about it,” Julien replied.

 “Uhm, yeah. You know he's in his sixties, right?”

 “Yup. Hasn't stopped other rockers, has it?”

 “Good point. Sure, I'll ask him. Might do the old man some good to get out of his rocking chair.”

 “The old man,” as it turned out, didn’t own a rocking chair, nor did he look as though he’d spent his retirement playing bingo. Pinder was more than happy to join for the fest and insisted on not being compensated. He showed up three days after the contract was signed, and to everyone’s delight, he’d brought along a new digital Mellotron, practically fresh off the manufacturer’s floor, to go with his own stack of synths.

 “Haven’t had much of a chance to play the bloody thing, but there’s no time like the present,” he commented cheerfully as he set it up in the auditorium they were using for rehearsals. At House’s look of longing he added, “Want to have a go at it sometime? Beats a synthesizer if you want a full orchestral sound.”

 “Well, if you’re offering…” Only the slightest twitch gave away the fact that House wasn’t as nonchalant as he was trying to sound.

 “I’m offering.”

 “Cool. Before the concert?”

 “Of course.”

 Through all of this Grant’s health slowly deteriorated, each day finding him a little weaker, tiring more easily. His use of morphine slowly crept up at the same time to offset the increased pain. Wilson dropped by frequently, both to check up on his patient and to check in on his relationship with Brid. The former was progressing pretty much as he had expected, and he knew his dropping by was only to offer support and comfort.

The latter, though, was making him feel off-kilter. In most of the relationships he’d been in over the years he’d jumped forward and taken charge, wining, dining and wooing the one he was pursuing as fast into bed as he could direct. This time the progression was so slow he found himself stuck in perpetual arousal. There was no way around it. So much was going on with the concert preparations that he knew his longing would have to wait.

So he waited, wishing that he could repress something else- the growing feelings that went beyond lust. Try as he might, those niggling feelings wouldn’t go away. _What did it take?_ he wondered as he gazed at Brid from across the room as she went over the set with her bandmates. He would have thought that after three wives, the occasional lover, then the loss of Amber, that he would have been burnt out on love. Yet, there it was, staring him in the eye. His thoughts went back again to what he’d always thought his type was, and he knew she broke every image he’d ever had of his type.

 She looked up, caught his gaze, and offered him a warm smile that tingled down his spine. _There was the psychic side of her, as well,_ he thought, one that she rarely let slip his direction. He suddenly realized he wanted to be a part of that, as well – to know the inner beauty of her mind and feel it join with his. He knew House and Sabrina had that link. _Damn, he envied the man._

* * *

 

The stage was empty, not even set up yet. Brid walked out to the center and stared across the arena that in a few days would hold a sold-out crowd. Night’s Desire would go on, without one of its founders, and she would be a part of it. She thought of her dad, lying in bed a few miles away, far from her protection. He would see the concert by the means of video, one initially designed to capture the highlights of the concerts for DVD sales, but also set up for streaming at the web site that Nash had negotiated with the promoters.

On the outside, everything appeared to be perfect, but inside Brid’s nerves were jangling. This had been her bright idea, she reminded herself severely. _Why did she have this sense of unease?_ Hesitantly she let her mind reach out, seeking… and she staggered back at the wave of hatred that careened through her. _So that was it,_ she thought, wishing her hands would stop trembling. _Oh, Tommy,_ her thoughts continued as she slowly reeled herself in. _Nothing good could come from all that negativity._

“Brid?” Sabrina approached her and she forced herself to smile. “I picked up… something.”

“Yeah.” _This one she couldn’t hide,_ she realized, carefully letting down a chink of her psychic wall to let Sabrina feel what had happened. She watched as the other woman closed her eyes, frowned, and then let her features go lax as she gently slid into Brid’s mind.

_Such hatred._

_Yeah._

_Loss, despair, anger. He feels betrayed._

_I wish I understood why._

Sabrina snorted.

_That’s easy enough. He was in love with you._

_No way._

_Or at least his perception of love._

_Possession._

_Yes._

Brid shivered.

_If that’s his idea of love then I want no part of it._

Slowly they both opened their eyes. Brid was surprised to find Sabrina’s hands intertwined with hers as waves of comfort slid from her to Brid.

“Remember, you have friends who care about you, and you are capable of doing this without him,” Sabrina said quietly. “We have your back.”

“I know if I send out feelers I can keep a watchful eye on him, but I don’t think I can hold up under the strain,” Brid admitted.

“Then we’ll all contribute… yes, Greg is agreeing with me on this one. We’ll have to leave your dad out of this, though. He’s not up to it.”

“Dad!” Brid let out a groan of frustration. “He doesn’t need this right now. Please, I’d like to leave him out of this battle.”

“We will.”

“What’s going on?”

Both women turned to see Wilson standing off to one side, a puzzled expression on his face. Brid closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “It’s… nothing, James,” she finally murmured, pretending not to notice when Sabrina gave her a mental nudge of annoyance. “Or, at least nothing I can explain easily.”

“What?” He advanced towards her, concern written all over his features, shooting Sabrina a look of bewilderment as she turned on her heels and left the stage. “Something you’re keeping from me?”

“James, I…” _If he touched her he would know,_ she thought grimly.

“Yes?” His frown deepened when she stepped back from him. “Or let me guess… it’s a secret.”

“It’s not like that,” she began. “It’s just that some things are…”

“What? Too personal? Or maybe you’re just afraid of letting me in.” She gave him a stunned look, feeling herself start to shake inside as he added, “You don’t know how frustrating this is. Dammit, Bridgette, I… want to be a part of what you have to share. You don’t seem to mind sharing with House, of all people. Why not me?”

He turned away and she forced herself not to cry. “Don’t…” she whispered. “Please don’t.” Tentatively she reached out, and found the walls he’d raised. “It works both ways, James,” she finally said. “You have to let me in, too.”

With that she strode off the stage, not knowing he was giving her a pained look of longing before he shook his head and walked the opposite direction. _Great going, Romeo,_ he thought glumly. _This was one setback that he didn’t need. She didn’t need,_ he corrected himself as he beat a hasty retreat from the stage.


	8. The Concert

_“Forgive me for I don't know what I gain_  
Alone in this garden of pain  
Enchantment has but one truth:  
I weep to have what I fear to lose…” 

_“Gethsemane”- Nightwish – Oceanborn_

Chapter Eight – The Concert

_Such hubbub,_ Wilson thought as he wound his way through the backstage crowd. Artemis Fest for the Children was on Day Two, with the two headliners coming up, one after the other, before finishing together for the finale. He’d heard more types of music than he even knew existed, he admitted to himself. 

The press was all over the place with it, and since it was his cancer ward that was benefiting, he found himself giving interviews and managing to say all the right things. Occasionally Cuddy would join him, and one time they managed to drag House in, much to the man’s chagrin. He was not, he groused later, a publicity tool. 

He worked his way past security and walked down to where his front-row seat next to Cuddy and House’s ducklings was waiting for him. The PPTH Board of Directors was there, as well, some with tolerant expressions, occasional disdain, and actual enjoyment. Maybe they were into easy listening, Wilson thought as he seated himself. 

He could have stayed backstage and watched from there. Maybe Brid needed his support, he realized. He hadn’t offered much in the past week, aside from checking on Grant and giving Brid a light peck on the lips. Her words about it working both ways had hit him right where he lived. He’d screwed up, badly. House would have a field day with this one when he found out, if he didn’t know already. 

One thought kept coming to mind and it haunted him. Time to man up and open up. If House, one of the most closed people he’d ever known, could be receptive to the link he shared with his wife, then certainly Wilson could do the same. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, ignoring the fact that Cuddy was trying to get his attention. There was… something… he took a long breath and let it out slowly… _damn, this was hard…_

Suddenly the lights overhead flickered to signal everyone to their seats, and the audience let out a roar of approval, jolting Wilson out of a semi-trance. He found himself applauding, letting the crowd’s enthusiasm slide through him. If he couldn’t support her backstage, then he sure as hell would do it from the front row, he decided. Cuddy gave him a reassuring pat and he grinned at her, then leaned forward in his seat as the lights dimmed again, then went out completely, except for the slow rise of the stage lights. The orchestral sound of the Mellotron started soft in pitch, then grew louder as the band walked out to their positions. Wilson could just make out House as the man seated himself behind the electric piano. As the stage lights reached their peak out walked Brid, her long hair unbound, wearing a flowing, satin red evening dress. She took her position behind the center microphone just as the sounds reached a crescendo. She then began to sing as the guitar rang out in tune with her. 

Night’s Desire was off and running, with blazing guitar, thudding base, Pinder’s Mellotron and crashing drums. Brid’s operatic vocals blended in perfect with the metal sounds, causing Wilson to rise to his feet with the rest, letting the audience push him up closer to the stage, then closer still until he was leaning against it, entranced. Between songs Mark would cajole the fans with the sing-song voice of a poet, then growl along with Brid during numbers that were fascinatingly wonderful. Mike Pinder was introduced and got a round of cheers, mostly coming from Moody Blues fans who had clustered together at the left side of the stage. He grinned impishly and waved, obviously having the time of his life. 

At one point Brid paused between numbers, introduced Angela and had her sing the one hit song Night’s Desire had experienced while she was the lead singer. The two women linked arms as Brid sung back-up and Angela let go for the fans. At first the audience appeared to be stunned, but then began singing along, to the evident relief of everyone on the stage. In the second verse Angie began growling the lyrics, which got a wild reception from the crowd. 

All of this, to Wilson, was icing on the cake. He was there to watch one woman, and watch he did. Every nuance, every pure tone captivated him. He gazed up into her eyes and found her watching him, her glance going occasionally to the rest of the crowd, but always back to him. Sometimes she would break off the gaze and move to one side of the stage, extending her arms out over the crowd, but she always came back to him. 

_Let down the walls,_ he thought. _Would music help?_ He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, letting the rhythm and notes carry him along. A very tiny glimmer of something caught his notice, and he focused on it, noticing the way that Brid’s eyes widened ever so slightly. The glimmer grew into a pulse and he let out a sigh, feeling it settle over him like a warm blanket. He realized that it wasn’t a complete connection – he couldn’t hear her thoughts – but at least he was on the right track. 

All too soon the set ended, followed by an encore, then the entire band bowing before the crowd. As Night’s Desire left the stage for the final time Wilson began weaving his way to the backstage door, pausing to flash his pass at the security guard. He had to see her, he thought, working his way through well-wishers, fans who had won passes, security, stage hands and others. Already the roadies were working behind the curtains setting up Whistle Stop’s equipment in preparation for their performance. 

He found her at the end of the hall, giving a post-concert interview to the local TV channel’s reporter. The rest of the band was with her, all sporting smiles of elation mixed with relief. House stood off to one side, trying desperately to stay out of the limelight from what Wilson could tell. Mark was the first to see Wilson; the other man reached out and pulled him in with them, next to Brid. The reporter smiled at Wilson, then moved to him and extended her mic to him. 

“Dr. Wilson, any thoughts?” 

He put on what he hoped was his most charming smile and replied, “I’ve never experienced anything like what has happened here, and I may never again. To have all of this done for our pediatric ward… I’m a little overwhelmed right now. This was all Bridgette’s idea and I can’t thank her enough.” He turned to Brid, letting his gaze delve into hers. _Never enough,_ he thought, feeling the warmth intensify as she smiled up at him. 

After the reporter moved on Brid leaned up to give him a gentle kiss, then giggled and wiped at his lips. “You think I would have learned the first time,” she said teasingly as he gave in and pulled her to him. “Come on, I want to change into something more comfortable before going back out to the stage.” 

He followed her, his hand linked in hers as they wove their way through the crowd. Once inside her dressing room she locked the door and indicated the sofa for him to sit on, then began disrobing down to her underwear, causing his eyes to narrow. The slow, steady burn of arousal began making itself known and he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“What?” Her voice was teasing as she paused to gaze down at him. “Am I bothering you or something?” 

“Or something,” he replied agreeably, reaching out to take her hand and pull her down to his lap. Better, he thought, sighing when she sat astride him and lowered her head to his. _Better be no interruptions this time,_ he thought as he began sliding his hands over her. His tongue sought hers as his hands cupped her breasts, raking his thumbs across her nipples. Brid whimpered and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. One hand moved to the front catch of her bra and with a well-practiced move he unhooked it, then slid it down her arms and off. Much better, he decided as he bent his head to take one nipple into his mouth and suck on it. 

“James…” Her hands reached down to the hem of his sweater, then began lifting up on it. Eagerly he assisted her, tossing the garment aside before pulling her to him so their skin would meet. The warmth surged through him and he gasped, his arms tightening around her as he let his forehead rest against hers. 

“Easy,” she whispered, her lips brushing over his. He nodded, running his hands along her bare spine, feeling her shiver against him. One hand slid down her abdomen, teasing at the waist band of her panties. He felt the warmth become arousal and he groaned, tugging her panties down her hips, assisting her as she slid them off one leg at a time before coming back to sit astride his lap again. 

“Beautiful,” he muttered, taking in her pink-tipped nipples, the dark curls that crowned her thighs, her womanly curves. He reached down to slide his fingertips between her thighs, heard a soft moan as he found her aroused and wet for him. Deftly he probed, letting one finger slide inside of her as he rubbed her with the heel of his hand. His mouth found her breasts, his tongue lapping first one hardened tip, then the other. She tightened around his finger, soft little moans coming from her as he slid another finger into her honeyed warmth. 

He felt her hands slide down to unzip his slacks and he shifted to give her room, a sigh of relief escaping him as she freed his manhood from its confines. Her hand began to stroke him, causing his hips to thrust as his mouth came down on hers. God, he thought as heat began to work its way through him, the warmth of their connection intensifying. 

Wilson could stand no more. He lifted up on her, then brought her down and slid into her. She cried out and arched against him, sliding up and down along him. He became aware of their surroundings slowly fading, felt her lips tremble against his… _and they were as one, light and music and joy caressing their souls…_

 _James…_

 _

Bridgette… 

We are one… 

Orgasm swept through both of them and the link intensified. A second one, not quite as intense, carried them along, their minds caressing, seeking, delving deeper.

_

His surroundings slowly returned just as a final orgasm lifted him along. Dazed, he took her in as she arched, tightening around him before sagging, letting her head rest on his shoulder. 

“My God,” he whispered, holding her hard against him. 

_Yeah._

 _We can talk like this._

 _

Yes.

_

Brid finally lifted her head to gaze into his eyes, a peaceful smile on her lips. “I think I could get used to this,” she teased softly, leaning forward to press a light kiss on his lips. “And, if I don’t get dressed we’ll miss Whistle Stop’s concert.” 

“Shit! I forgot.” 

She rose from his lap and walked over to a rack of clothing, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Wilson hurried to his feet and began setting his clothes to rights, suddenly feeling flustered. He’d never experienced anything like that before. 

_Get used to it._

He walked over to her and began assisting her with her clothing, pausing to occasionally drop a kiss on her lips. “You look good in leather,” he said softly, taking in the floor-length leather skirt and the bustier that accented her figure. She blushed, then smiled as she sat at the vanity to repair her makeup. 

“Thank you,” she finally said. “I try to look the part. It’s part of what makes this job so much fun.” 

“You get to do a little play-acting.” 

“Exactly.” 

As she rose to her feet he grasped her hands and held her at arm’s length, drinking her in. “Just… just gorgeous,” he said huskily. “What’s inside… just as gorgeous.” 

_So are you._

He laughed inwardly, feeling her mental chuckle as they made their way to the door.


End file.
